Operation MACk
by blender-mashup-mockup
Summary: A story about a software mogul, his phlegmatic butler, his top programmer, and his ex girlfriend, and a cell phone app that would make a mess of their lives. An Operation Overdrive Fic. Warning: Spoiler for Things not Said. I own nothing.
1. Chapter 1: When Andy lost Sally

_"Try to imagine an intelligent pocket planner—wait, not just any 'intelligent' pocket organizer; imagine one with *real* intelligence, capable of running autonomously. Just think of how it would revolutionize the consumer electronics industry. It's the pocket planner that would do the planning _for_ you!"_

These were the words Andrew Hartford told the board, minutes before the approval of his latest bright idea yet: an intelligent computer planner, capable of efficient, nigh automatic schedule planning. And what more, it wasn't just a garden variety piece of hardware; it had more power than a pocket organizer, all loaded into one tiny chip, and was available as an attachment to a wide array of compatible cell phones.

Andrew was a gifted inventor, and a better salesman. He had a Midas touch to these things; he knows how to build something cool, and how to sell it to people.

With this planner, Hartford Industries may easily outsell the Apple Company (well, theoretically), which is rumored to be making a pretty-to-look-at cell phone overloaded with tacky useless features. Why only trade, when you can also upgrade? This was the Hartford Industries credo; instead of just making a new piece of hardware, the company also manufactures widgets attachable to existing pieces of hardware that would tap into a thriving preexisting market.

Look out Billy; there's a new geek god rising from the horizon.

--##--

"We in the industry like giving 'code names' to our projects." Said Andrew, excited like a kid in a candy store. Beside him was his on-and-off girlfriend Sally, a pleasant-looking woman in her early thirties. She looked perplexed; her face glared with seeming regret that Andrew could barely notice in his excitement.

"Uh... what is it, Andy?" Said Sally, feigning interest.

"You really want to know?" Andrew responded.

"Sure!"

"It's actually a sort-of acronym. We call it the Managerial Automaton CracKer: MACk, for short. See, it's a chip. And you can "crack" it into your cell phone to give access to the nifty features in it. Isn't that great?"

"That's—wonderful, Andy." She said hesitantly, "Do you think that your company programmers could handle it?"

"Them? Wouldn't bet on it. I did the bulk of the code myself. I'm also head of the programming team."

"That's amazing, Andrew. You sure are busy. Is there anything you can't do?"

"I know. I'm already thinking of the possibilities. If I can get the code just right, I might be able to create a built-in chatbot."

"A program that you can chat with?"

"Not just any chatbot. One that can beat the Turing test. You won't believe you're talking to a machine!"

"Andrew..."

"What is it, what's wrong?"

"I'd just like to say that--"

"If it's about our relationship I've been thinking..."

"I've been thinking, too. What if..."

"Say no more. All these years, I've been longing to settle down, and have a family. Maybe it's about time we..."

Andrew paused. This was the moment of truth; three years in the making. He took a small box from his tuxedo pocket. In it was a 24-carat gold ring with a small, elegant-cut diamond in the center. He even had a simpler gold wedding ring pre-ordered at Switzerland, ready to be made at his request.

"Sally McDowd,. Would you marry me?"

"I'm sorry. But I can't."

"But... why?"

"It's nothing, Andrew. It's not you, it's me."

"What?" Andrew said. He was flabbergasted. Nothing he did ever went against his plans—not before. Everything was so well thought of; the candlelit dinner by their favorite restaurant, booked several months in advance to coincide with the 3rd anniversary of their first date. The mood was also intricately and meticulously planned, with a live orchestra softly playing their favorite song in the background. And the _crème de la crème_ of them all was an engagement ring, placed in his pocket, waiting for the big question.

"I gotta go." Sally said as she got up from the table. Andrew watched as Sally—in his eyes, the most beautiful woman in the world—left, wearing the most elegant gown she had (a personal gift to her).

"What are you waiting for? Go after her!" Said the orchestral conductor. Andrew stood up and ran off towards the restaurant exit.

"Sally, wait!"

Sally stopped. She stood there, staring at Andrew with her gentle blue eyes glimmering in the moonlight. A cab pulled over by the road. She paused, looking at Andrew's face as if she was trying to apologize.

"Look, Andrew. Don't think that I don't want this too, I do. I really do. I waited for so long for this. And yet, this doesn't seem right anymore."

"I don't understand, Sally. What doesn't seem right anymore?"

"It's nothing physical Andrew; Personally, I couldn't care less if you were the poorest man on Earth. You love me. But that isn't enough. You're always so busy. You're practically married to your work."

"But Sally, I..."

"It's you I want. You. I need your time. I need to be with someone who wouldn't put work over the people he cares for."

"Sally, I could change."

"I'm sorry."

With that, Sally turned around and left. Andrew could only watch as she hailed a cab, and looked at him, perhaps for the last time...

--##--

Later that evening, Andrew entered his office, dejected and wallowing in self pity. His obsession with work has cost him the girl of his dreams. Everything that he thought would make his life complete—a woman to love, a chance to start a family—slipped through his fingers in that night.

While normally a person would be at a pub drinking at this moment, Andrew was locked up in his office, drowning his sorrow in work.

He attached a prototype of the chip into an adaptor in his computer. He logged in, and opened the program. An option box popped up.

GOOD DAY, USER! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO CALL YOU:

[O]Formal? Mr.[O]Ms.[O]Mrs[O]____________________

[O]Informal? _______________________

[O]Titular? Do you hold multiple titles? [O]Please select:

So far the MACk's interface was simple; though the basic code was in place, the AI has yet to be tested, and the GUI is still window-based. This was all temporary. Andrew had grand visions of the MACk's GUI: An interface that showed a customizable realistic avatar, which can respond to commands verbally. And he knew only one person with the skill and expertise to make that grandiose vision possible. A programmer named Cameron Watanabe, a trusted personal friend and freelance employee, based somewhere in California.

He moved the mouse cursor and selected informal, which would allow the MACk to call him by preference. A text box popped out.

"I'm married to my work, she says." Andrew thought "Well, MACk, looks like you're going to be the child of this marriage." He shuddered at the thought. That was one sick joke, he said to himself, but a very interesting one.

He typed _DAD_ into the text box.

HI DAD, the program responded.

"Welcome to the world, son."

Andrew sighed.

--##--

"Sir, is this your idea of a sick joke." Spencer said sternly, upon seeing the greeting on the MACk's interface.

"Well, Yes. Since I just lost yet another chance at starting a real family, I might as well have a little fun about it."

"Well, sir, this is not normally the kind of behavior expected from a "mature" person recovering from a breakup. Sir, might I add, Ms. sally isn't the only fish in the proverbial sea. Her refusal to accept your marriage proposal isn't that much of a reason to act desperate."

"What do you mean?"

"Andrew, are you daft? Have you taken a gander at yourself recently?" Spencer exclaimed. "Forgive me for saying so sir, but I honestly can't stand seeing you in this condition. You're far better than this. Take it for me. Ms. McDowd would be missing out on a lot if she refused to marry you. Give her time. She might not be ready. Do you really think the two of you can risk your relationship on a serious interpersonal dispute."

"What dispute?" Andrew responded. He was well aware of Spencer's manner of thinking, having been with the old Briton since he was a lad. He could still remember the first piece of advice he gave him, back when ol' Spence' still had an afro. He managed to be phlegmatic and at the same time humorous, something odd coming from a member of the British Air Force.

"Of course, sir. I hardly see you at home anymore so I deduced that you were too busy at work. The few instances that you are home you spend in the office doing what should have been done in the office. If this kind of behaviour continues long after your marriage, you'd turn out to be a horrible husband, indeed."

"And your point is?"

"The point, sir, is that she is simply making an intelligent choice. Marriage would not make you a better person. Perhaps if you choose to cease this might I say, MANIC obsession with work, she might come around."

"I guess you can put it that way."

"Sir, if I might add, don't be in too much of a rush. Fools rush in as the song goes."

"Upside down, bouncing off the ceiling…" Andrew joked, recalling a time when Spencer decided to listen to modern music.

"Right, sir, that's very funny. You're a regular John Cleese. You would also make a great father one day. But first you must master the art of being a good husband."

Andrew stared at Spencer with a piercing look. Spencer felt embarrased, sensing a bit of irony in what he just said.

"This coming from an old man who had a divorce and doesn't even talk to his only son." Andrew replied matter-of-factly.

"Sir, if you're talking about Junior, I'd like to repeat that he refused to talk to me for over 16 years."

"That's not really my fault now, is it?"

"Very well, sir."

"Anyway, thanks, Spence."

"I'm glad we have this understanding."

The two hear a bell coming from the Mansion gate. Spencer immediately went downstairs and into the foyer.

A stiff-looking bespectacled nerdy Asian man in his early-twenties entered. He was carrying a large, heavy-looking bag carrying what seems to be a suitcase, emblazoned with the Hartford Industries logo. He approached Andrew Hartford, and bowed.

--##--

"Wow. This place is amazing." Said the man excitedly. "Boy I've seen luxury hotels, but they have nothing on this place."

"I'm glad you like it, Mr. Watanabe." Greeted Andrew. "Cameron, no one but you can make a convincing hologram with attitude."

"Aw, shucks. Wait, that phrase sounds oddly familiar."

"Say what?

"Eh, urban legend. You old-timers wouldn't understand."

"Whatever. Just don't overwork yourself this time. Did you bring the program?"

"Did I?" Cameron responded, "You can come in now, Cyber-Cam!"

Suddenly the two heard the sound of footsteps coming *up*stairs. Andrew looked puzzled.

"Unhand me!" Said Spencer as he was held up in the air by what appears to be a punk-looking replicant wearing a beanie. The replicant looked rather similar to Cameron. "You chav, put me down this instant."

"Okey-dokey Limey" The doppleganger said, throwing Spencer downstairs. "Yo, grampa, that looks like it's gonna hurt in the morning..."

"Bugger off, hologram." Spencer said in agony downstairs. He stumbles up, looking angrily at Cameron. "You will rue the day you bring a holographic CHAV in this house."

"Now, now, Spencer, be nice."

"What's a chav?" Cameron asked.

"Apparently Cyber-Cam" Andrew responded. "You managed to create a more-than-realistic tangible likeness of yourself in the 'bot. How did you do it?"

"Well, sir, I have the codes right here. I'm not sure if I could make it work. It might require more memory than the average cell phone." Cameron replied. "But still, working on it seems exciting. To think, a phone with a holographic operation system you can interact with."

"As we say in Hartford Industries, the Future begins today".

"So it is, Sir."

"WHAZZUP!" Cyber-Cam yelled.

"This thing still has bugs in it. I certainly hope *your* AI won't end up like this one." Cameron added.

"I'm not so sure. A program is just a yes or no device. If it malfunctions, it's your fault."

"But bear in mind that in my experience, the AI evolved on its own. Who knows what can come out with something as advanced and complex as yours?"

"Still, things might get interesting."

"Are you suggesting we let the program evolve and see what happens?"

"Come on, Mr. Watanabe. Think positive. What's the worst that can happen?"

"It takes on a life of its own, ties you up and stuffs you into a closet. I told myself I would never let AI get that smart. Have we learned nothing from that Czech playwright?"

"RUR did teach us to use the word 'robot'." Andrew added matter-of-factly. He gave Cameron a reassuring look. The young Sansei shrugged. He will be setting aside his fears for now; he bore in mind, however, that ambition has, historically, led many a great man to fall flat on his face. And in the realm of Cell phone apps, no one could compare to Hartford.

"How did it get up there?" Andrew asked?

"I put it there while I was outside. I can pinpoint where he can 'materialize' from this device." Cam replied, while opening his bag—picking up a device that looked rather similar to a really fat remote control. "I just point at range and bang; Cyber-Cam."

"It's a good thing we won't market him, coz Sony would sue, and it would mark the end of my Japanese franchise."

"Right." Cam responded, "And Apple won't mind the codename? Managerial Automaton Cracker…

"We'll change it prior to release. As we in the industry ALWAYS do."

"And I suppose you have a contract with the Japanese government, too?"

"I'm a spelunker, not a defense contractor. But yes, sort of. Hartford Cybernetics Industries is at the Bidding for a Japanese-North American defense agreement. And, you know how big a softie I am, make the world a better place and all…"

"I trained you well." Spencer responded, reminding Andrew of all the stories he told him about military service and saving people."

"You guys are both cheesy. What next? Spandex, powers, and poses?" Cameron responded.

"Look who's talking!" Cyber-Cam sneered.

Cameron then pressed the red button. Cyber-Cam fizzled out as the bewildered residents stare at him accusingly.

"What?" Cameron said defensively.

--##--

Andrew Robert Hartford is the only son of Quinton F. G. Hartford, and the sole scion of the wealthy yet dying McAllister-Hartford clan. He was noted for being the black sheep of the family, which gained him notoriety early on. One of his riskier enterprises was a complete overhaul of his family business. Within months, the McAllister and Hartford Manufacturing Company, once an outmoded industrial firm, shifted gears and went into light manufacturing, switching to the rising tide of information technology in the 90s.

From heavy equipment to computer chips; a nefariously deadly blow to the company—something it would never recover from, the McAllisters decreed. Such was their rage with Andrew that he nearly lost his position. However, the company made surprising profit, one that cemented Andrew's place as CEO of the newly-christened Hartford Cybernetics Industries.

Unsurprisingly, the now eligible young bachelor dated many women, but could never hold a relationship long enough to lead to commitment. His girlfriends all say the same thing; his work goes first.

Work has always gone first for Andrew. Many of his ex-girlfriends remarked that dumping him for someone new had little effect on Andrew. He was described as "robotic", and "mechanical", little different from the machines whose schematics he has created. His most frequent nickname was "Android Hartford".

Recently, it seems that "Android's" bad relationship streak would be broken. The latest patch was Sally McDowd, a roboticist from Silicon Valley. The nerd community dubbed it the joining of two geek gods, and expected the marriage of the century.

--##--

"God, Mr. Hartford, this program is unbelievable."

"You were expecting an app from FORTRAN?" Andrew added, quite proud of how the test turned out. The program's execution of its first problem solving test went surprisingly well. As Hartford typed the details of the managerial dilemma—in plain English, no less—the program quickly devised a set of solutions within twenty seconds. Each answer was in grammatically acceptable English, ranked in order of favorability.

"While the program is still limited in its number of possible responses, at least in this trial, the program shows a remarkable degree of intelligence far above the limits of computers. It analyzed each possible solution, selected a course of action, and ranked every possible solution in order of effectiveness."

"Wait..." Cameron responded, "Isn't that a bit too much for a cell phone planner?'

"I intended the MACk to be limited in its scope. But I also planned it to be versatile; it can work with GPS. It can fix your schedule automatically to your preference. It can go online and book reservations for you. It's the ultimate secretary's tool. And imagine a world where you will never be late again!"

"It's still pretty much overkill for a cell phone app."

"Cell phones are just the beginning. Everybody has to start small."

Andrew stared at Cameron's inquisitive expression. The young man had 'the look' on his face—the look of an inquisitive doubter. His stare was somewhat scornful, as if saying 'Hartford, you lunatic.'

"If it makes me less of a lunatic, the idea of having a talking holographic interface is entirely for the sake of being 'cool'," Andrew said in a preemptive retort, "I mean, really, what's better than a hologram you can directly talk to!"

"You got me there, sir" Cameron chuckled. The lunatic made a lot of sense now. His chattable avatar was just icing on the cake, and Hartford wants the best icing to go on his cake.

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO NEXT, _DAD_?

"Now you know why I need attitude."

"I can see that, sir. And boy when I'm through with it, MACk would be the most sophisticated, badass app this side of the universe. But let's not get too ahead of ourselves."

"True."

"Why did you tell the MACk to call you dad? Does it have something to do with that rumored breakup? Don't worry, sir, you'll be a dad someday." Cam jokingly said.

"I wish." Andrew responded sheepishly.

"You don't have to be a prick about it, sir."

"It's an in-joke, Mr. Watanabe. Live with it."

"Hai."

____________________________________________

Okay, okay, okay. First off, there'll be a lot more characters from the previous seasons of PR (the older ones, mostly) that'll end up working for Hartford Indstries. And yes, Andrew has no idea what Cam's profession was, prior to being a glorified nerd.

I took the liberty of adding a great deal of pop-culture references so lacking in the series.

Also, the McAllister-Hartford Company mentioned as the predecessor of the current Hartford Industries is based on a company of the same name I created for a history-based original fiction.


	2. Chapter 2: Kobayashi Mawhat?

--##--

"Look, I've been thinking about it, and well, I figured Andrew's too much of a workaholic. It seems like work is everything he has to talk about. Why, just last week, at his proposal, the only thing he could talk about was his new program." Sally said begrudgingly. "And to add to all that, the code name he gave it sounded like the name we agreed if ever we had a baby girl!"

"Which codename, if I may ask?" Spencer asked discretely.

"Mack."

"Oh, that. Managerial Automaton Cracker."

"That was one of the nicknames we agreed to name our baby, should it have been a girl. We both liked the name Mackenzie; it seemed to suit our would-be little girl. If it was a boy we'd name it after him."

"You refused to marry someone you said you loved simply because he named a programme after your hypothetical daughter?"

"Well, not really. The point is, Spence, the man is clearly too obsessed with his work."

"And you aren't?" Spencer added slyly. The old Briton had more than a few tricks up their sleeves. "And what about that empty shell of a robot you gave Andrew for his 41st birthday?"

"You mean he hasn't gotten around to toying with it yet?"

"Well, he is rather fascinated with it, and he did a few fixes from time to time."

"What else does he want to do with it?"

"Apparently, testing out simulated neural connections."

"A nervous system? Why?"

"He told me it was something to help paralytics. It's basically a medical dummy."

"And I thought he'd replace you by now…" Sally joked. The old butler gave out a very irritated look, somewhat akin to a poker face.

"Relax, Spencer, I was just kidding." Sally added, "It's not like I don't come over to the mansion. You two are as close as can be; he'd sooner give you a raise than replace you."

"If only, Ms. Sally, if only." Spencer replied.

"Sometimes, I wish I could just take back what I said that night. Putting his workaholic nature aside, he is actually a pretty good catch compared to most men; he's smart, caring, affectionate—rich…"

Sally paused, while Spencer grinned. She stared the old man down suspiciously.

"Might I interest you in a cup of tea, Spencer?"

"Oh, yes, I'd love some." Spencer replied. "I'd be a break from all those glasses of lemonade I'm used to."

--##--

The alert horn resonated through Hartford Manor, red signal lights flashed. In Hartford's central computer room, a disheveled Cam mashes the keyboard as Andrew stared at the monitor of his server, looking in ire as countless lines of error messages scroll upwards. Beads of sweat covered Cam's forehead. He quickly wiped his brow.

He looked at Hartford, sensing his extreme tension.

"What is the matter with this thing? Do something."

"I'm tryin'. Sir, I'm tryin'. I can't defy the laws of physics…" replied a fidgeting Cameron, in a surprisingly well-accented British tone.

"Don't ever say that again." Andrew said. Immediately the scene calmed. "At least not with that accent."

Drill terminated, says the snickering voice of Cyber Cam.

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is just reminding me too much of the Kobayashi-Maru."

"Scotty did not speak in an English accent."

"Scottish, English, Welsh, Irish, they're all British, what's the difference."

"Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Assamese, Viennese, and they're different how?"

"Well, for starters the Assamese are from a state on India, and the Viennese are citizens of the Austrian capital, and furthermore…"

"Stop being a know-it-all. You don't get the point don't you?"

"Yessir. I do. It's just that I'm not quite well-versed in Star Trek anymore."

"And you know about the Kobayashi-Maru?"

"It's a test that you can't beat. Which I'm guessing is the point of this debugging exercise."

Andrew gave Cameron a reassuring look.

"Spot on, Mr. Watanabe." He said, "The best way to debug a program of this scale is to see what happens when everything goes wrong, and the best place to do it my accurately built average-looking mock-up server room."

"You think the program would've survived that?"

"If my new security code works, then you wouldn't need another antivirus upgrade until…say 2007." Hartford said, "Take that, hackers."

"So with added security you can divert the people's attentions away from the cheaper phone apps that are vulnerable to constant viral attacks?"

"Nothing escapes you, Cameron."

"Care to check it out?"

"Only one way to know for sure."

Hartford went to a nearby desktop—recently rebooted from a simulated virus attack—and started opening the application.

And lo and behold, the moment they try to open the application after a complete viral invasion, it remained intact and infection-free. The program worked without a hitch, its interface greeted the two men with a pop-up stating that it managed to block a virus from interfering with its operations.

"What did I tell you?"

"Unbelievable," Cameron said in shock, "That program's as resilient as a metaphorical brick wall."

"Was that the best you got, *white hat?"

"What I'd like to know is exactly how you made this program damn near impervious? Unless you found a way to get every possible virus signature—"

"You're only part-right. While I did get an army of white-hat hackers to get the freaking codes of about every currently existing software bug—the real secret is that the program adapts to the malware it's exposed to. If current trends continue as predicted, the current version of the MACk would remain virus free well until 2007."

"Basically, nothing on Earth can get at it. Those antivirus companies would kill you."

"True I would get complaints from my 'good friends' Stevie and Billy, but hell, I'm making a widget for a cell phone. If some wacko tries to reverse engineer it to create the ultimate malware, he's got another thing coming. The cracker's antivirus capabilities are built in to the code of the program itself, which is damn near copy-proof. Backing up is so far the only chink in its copy-protection armor."

At that moment, it was almost as if Andrew would have a burst of maniacal laughter.

Cameron stood silent at the overconfident Hartford, who appeared to be reveling at the thought of his program's nigh invincibility. Pride comes before fall—this was the familiar pattern that Andrew seemed to embody. One day, his arrogance would bite him at the buttocks, much the same way his uncle Lothor did a few years back.

Maybe, perhaps, it'll take the form of that program. One thing's for sure, the program isn't impervious. It was still a program, and major changes needed to be saved. And as he assisted Andrew in backing up several copies of the current code into several disks, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if something went wrong.

--##--


	3. Chapter 3: Operation Overkill

**Author's note:** _So far, Mack's "origin story" doesn't seem to be too much about him yet—he's basically a Mack-Guffin, so to speak—in fact, it seems to be more about Andrew. When exactly will the Managerial Automaton Cracker become Mackenzie Hartford? Read on.  
_

_And a note about the name: The MA part of it (Managerial Automaton) describes what Mack supposedly is, an intelligent cell phone organizer. The "Cracker" part doesn't seem to make much sense, though, but I had to come up with a way to include a letter K in the name otherwise that'll make the app a blatant copyright infringement on Apple. "Cracker" here is used as a play on the word "chip", which describes the MACk unit as a piece of hardware; in addition it's also a play on the process of "cracking", or the manner software pirates circumvent the need for a CD when using hacked software._

_______________________________

One of the more iconic buildings in the San Angeles area, the Hartford Industries building soars high above the streets at 50 stories. This huge cylindrical spike of iron and glass dominated the skyline of the thriving but generally unknown Californian town, center of a huge reinvented empire built from machines and the programs that run them. From the ground floor, the company logo—a stylized compass-shaped insignia, dominated the building's entrance.

A limousine pulled over the polished stone clad frontage of the building. Spencer, still adjusting after 40 years to driving on the "wrong" side of the road, went out and opened the door to an eager Andrew Hartford. Andrew entered the building, and was almost instantly greeted warmly by just about every person in the lobby.

Andrew was rather uncomfortable with meetings—he wasn't accustomed to wearing suits, preferring the looser shirts and vests that make up his spelunker garb—and was all the more uneasy dealing with the nigh-unfeeling, cold, conformist board of directors.

What particularly vexes him about this meeting is his perpetually annoying vice-president, Collins.

Collins was a devil's advocate; a narrow-minded conservative, more interested in keeping the company afloat. He was little different from Andrew's technophobic relatives from the McAllister clan, which he acts as an unofficial representative. It wasn't really so much of the devil's advocate that irritated Andrew (better than a Yes man, he would say) but the manner in which he made his opinion known. Collins was rather young for a conservative prick, and was rather cynical and pompous.

Hartford's revenge came in the form of a particularly unlikeable intern, Russell, who was duly assigned as Collin's executive assistant.

--##--

"With all due respect, Mr. Hartford, to your programming finesse, we people of the board would like to inquire if you have, in placing a nigh-impervious antivirus into the code of the MACk project, gone completely insane!"

"Calm down, Mr. Collins."

"Oh, I'll calm down, Mr. Hartford. I'll calm down once you manage to successfully dodge a lawsuit from Norton and MacAfee. I'll calm down, if no hacker can get to our servers and steal the damn code to create a super-virus. Hartford, you idiot."

"Shut up, Wesley."

Collins was dumbstruck. He sat down, embarrassed at the extent of his outrage that bordered the unexpectedly disrespectful. Collins had traditionally held nothing against Andrew, and saw to it that his blatant complaining was absolutely necessary. His place was to put checks in balance. The company wasn't about to give in to any novel idea that comes out of Hartford's head.

"Pardon me, Mr. Hartford. Forgive me for my disrespect, but I'd like to point out that you're jeopardizing company integrity on what I personally believe is overkill. It's bad enough that you use the company's vast array of white hat hackers to break the right to privacy of people, but to develop a program that learns and evolves is far too much for a mere built-in antivirus for a cell phone application. If that isn't lunacy, sir, I don't know what it's called. And don't get me started on how this'll cause the price of the Managerial Automaton Cracker project to skyrocket, perhaps way beyond the intended market."

Hartford was silent, feeling somewhat flabbergasted by the barrage of arguments. And then the expression of his face suddenly changed.

Russell came in, carrying a file folder. He laid it on the table.

"Just in time, Nick." Hartford said, smiling at the young, grumpy-looking intern.

In the folder was a letter from the Governor of California himself, along with one from the Military Chief of Staff of the United States. All at once it became clear to the board what Andrew has been planning all along.

"Hartford Industries has been asked by the federal government to develop a nigh-impenetrable firewall to protect the US Army's servers from potential hacker activity sponsored by terrorists."

"So…"

"The board has, last week, approved of joining the bidding, under heavy pressure from Governor Schwarzenegger himself, who seeks to use a similar program to protect the servers of Californian government offices. I have taken the liberty of testing a smaller version of the antivirus firewall on the MACk to ensure the safety of our own products. Imagine the resilience of the firewall-cum-antivirus on the scale of an entire network."

"I still think it's overkill. But Hartford, you're a genius." Collins said sheepishly. His embarrassing display will cost him the respect of the board, and, perhaps, the ire of his superiors, the McAllisters.

"Am I not?"

"There's still a bidder to consider. Let's assume, perhaps that your super-firewall would rake in billions, but it's likely that both the state government and the US Army would be demanding exclusivity."

"Please, Mr. Collins. When such a bidder happens, we give our priorities to whoever has the most legal authority." Collins was, at that moment, starting to look like a crazy conspiracy theorist. At any moment he could be brandishing the "government control" mantra. Hence, he decided to fall silent, and allow the board to decide for themselves. Andrew has one-upped him once again.

Andrew was more or less idealistic—a trait he found both admirable and detrimental at the same time. It was clear that Andrew's intent was positive; while not always practical.

The board's decision came to a surprise for both Hartford and Collins; while the board did approve of taking a bidder, they were divided into whom to give product exclusivity to. Eventually, the bidding dates came, and neither the US Army nor the Californian government took the bid. The entire project was mothballed, and Hartford advised to put the firewall-antivirus on hiatus until the project had more bidders.

It seems that Collins had won after all.

--##--

"Don't beat yourself up sir, at least all the company servers would remain virus-free for the next two years and six months." Spencer said jokingly, "And it's—shall I put it—a marvelous addition to the computer in my quarters that I still find difficult to use. it's now impossible for me to screw up."

"Right…" Andrew replied sheepishly, as he slouches on a recliner while giving orders to Cameron, who was tweaking Cyber-Cam's programming code to be used for the MACk. "Well, that didn't go as expected."

"It's the law of averages, Mr.H." Said Cameron, mashing button after button of the keyboard as he speedily types the alterations of the code, "Wesley has to win sometime. Don't kick yourself too hard on the back. It could be worse."

"Well, I guess you both are right." Andrew replied.

"So, what's your progress report on the MACk's holographic image program."

"It's ready for testing."

"Whoa, that fast?'

"Like a New York minute, Mr. H., that's how fast technology advances. In time, I can program something in a split second and even that'll be considered laggy."

In what seemed like a flash even for the techno-savvy Hartford, Cam mashed the keyboard, punching in lines of code. A few clicks later, the entire code was in place.

"Did you add the chatbot?'

"It's there."

"Would we be having a visible avatar?"

"Well, the mesh is in place but with the lack of any other avatar to work with, you're getting Cyber-Cam's skin there. And voice."

"Will everything work well?"

"We have enough back-ups to work with, in case anything bad happens, but apart from that I'm betting my career everything will work perfectly."

"Start it up."

The interface was ready for testing. Cam pressed the launch button, enabling the programmer to see the initial interface. The screen showed a stark white screen, with a few rounded rectangles where the options would be. Below the figure of the Cyber-Cam skin was a chat box.

Hartford sailed across the room riding a swivel office chair. He gave Cameron a reassuring look (much the same with most reassuring looks which he gave people, only it was the look that he gives when he plans on giving them a big fat raise), before turning to the screen. He checked the interface—not nearly as functional as expected, but it gave him a basic idea of what the beta version would look like.

He eagerly tried a few workable commands he left functioning during the debugging process: display time options.

And then the unthinkable happened.

Almost immediately the computer screen flashed orange, (_Yes, the OS used by Hartford Industries has an_ **ORANGE SCREEN OF DEATH!**) displaying an obnoxious error message wittily placed by Hartford himself in the event of something like this.

WARNING:

THE PROGRAM, AS YOU CAN SEE, HAS EXPERIENCED A FATAL ERROR IN THE RUNNING OF [[MACK_AVATARMESH_VIRTUALCAMERON]]

AND WHEN I MEAN FATAL, I MEAN—THIS ERROR ISN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN AND NOW YOU'RE PRETTY MUCH SCREWED AT THIS POINT. MY BEST GUESS IS THAT IT OCCURRED SOMEWHERE IN THE CODE OF THE PROGRAM ITSELF. SO, IT'S SOMETHING YOU PROBABLY CAN'T FIX.

NOW YOU CAN TRY TO REBOOT, BUT I DON'T SEE HOW THAT CAN FIX ANYTHING. CLOCK'S TICKING…

THE MANAGERIAL AUTOMATON CRACKER

Sadly, though this was not to be the easy fix as Andrew had originally planned. As he tried getting it rebooted, the same thing happened each time he tried to restart the device and the program. Soon it became apparent that the entire system was corrupted. The machine simply showed the same error message again and again, until all Andrew could do is lean his head into the screen.

Downstairs, in Spencer's quarters, the crash messed up the server's connections. The antivirus kicked in, diverting the information from Spencer's still working PC to the upstairs server. Immediately the orange screen of death lifted, only to flash into Spencer's user account at a social networking site.

And, as if to add insult to injury, the server exploded. Cameron quickly leapt out of the workstation and proceeded to get the fire extinguisher.

"I don't even know how that could happen?" Cam said as he sprayed the damaged computer with extinguisher foam while noting its similarity to pyrotechnical special effects used in some campy TV shows. "I've seen a lot of explosions in my day, but this just takes the cake. Weird things do happen in California."

"I've worked so hard… we've worked so hard. Why did this have to happen?"

"Relax, Mr. Hartford—"Cam replied, trying to comfort Andrew while hiding his true feelings of nearing tears. He has been working on the program since the early morning, having come to Hartford Manor in his pajamas. 10 hours and countless cups of coffee later, disaster struck.

"RELAX? I LOST MY GIRLFRIEND BECAUSE OF THIS DAMN PROGRAM!"

"Well, boo-hoo, I came to work in PJs."

"And now we have to put up with Spencer's social networking ID being redirected into the screen."

"Do we have to? His profile picture looks nothing like him. Hey, is that a picture of you and Orlando Bloom?"

"As a matter of fact, no. That's just Spencer in disguise. For an old army dude he sure knows how to dress up convincingly like just about anyone. "

"Is he from the MI6?"

"Royal Air Force. And yes, we don't have to put up with this."

Hartford stood up, and went towards the door.

"SPENCER!"

Sparks flew as Andrew and Cam stared at the inexplicably ruined server room. What caused the crash was unclear, and how it ended in the curiously theatrical disaster is beyond comprehension, even for their genius minds.

_______________________________

_And thus, we all know what'll happen next. Please rate, comment, but don't flame._


End file.
